


not how big, it’s how mean

by pixiepower



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Ex Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Face-Sitting, Human/Vampire Relationship, M/M, Mild blood sharing, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tenderness, Threesome - M/M/M, happy halloween carats!, i’m originating another polyam tag quelle surprise, jeon wonwoo deserves to get railed dot twitter, joshua hong’s mouth and what it does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:14:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27153682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiepower/pseuds/pixiepower
Summary: Joshua will always be a wingbeat behind Minghao now. He’s missed too much. They can have each other like this, but only with Minghao bridging the gaps.It doesn’t make Wonwoo want it any less, though.
Relationships: Hong Jisoo | Joshua/Jeon Wonwoo, Hong Jisoo | Joshua/Jeon Wonwoo/Xu Ming Hao | The8, Hong Jisoo | Joshua/Xu Ming Hao | The8, Jeon Wonwoo/Xu Ming Hao | The8
Comments: 9
Kudos: 107





	not how big, it’s how mean

**Author's Note:**

> title from “teeth” by lady gaga.
> 
> wildly unedited and absolutely not what i was supposed to be writing, but the heart wants what it wants.
> 
> this is basically fully dedicated to [skateboardachoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/skateboardachoo). i love you Very much!! [clown to wizard communication]
> 
>  **note:** the “mild blood sharing” tag is not without merit, however, rest assured any blood drinking is, as tagged, mild, and there is no prolonged description of wounds. if you need additional warnings please do not hesitate to reach out!

It’s not a lie when Wonwoo says, “Wow, hyung, it’s good to see you.”

Joshua’s grinning like he knows it’s good to see him, actually, pulling Wonwoo into a hug with cool fingers curled at the back of Wonwoo’s neck. “How’ve you been?”

“Good, good,” Wonwoo says, because that’s what you say, and because he wants to see where this goes.

He takes a sip of his coffee and lets its warmth steam up his glasses when he exhales into it. It blends Joshua’s edges out into fog, too, disappearing him into the white-grey mist filling his vision.

It is good to see Joshua. It has been a while, and Wonwoo isn’t sure if it’s the time apart fading his memory or if Joshua really does just look even better now. He was always beautiful, unnaturally so, which makes sense. It seems fair and balanced in the grand scheme of things. But being away from something makes you appreciate it all the more when you’re faced with it again, beauty especially.  _ Absence makes the heart,  _ and  _ I can’t miss you if you’re still here,  _ and all that. 

Not that Wonwoo has even been doing much missing, if any. He’s been busy.

In fact, Wonwoo is feeling rather thunderstruck by the sudden collision, past running into the present (and the future, if he has any say in it, if he’s reading all the signs correctly) like some tangled twist of time. The hand on his waist is a concrete reminder of that, just as Joshua’s warm eyes glittering at him in the middle of all this café seating are.

Joshua hums and flutters his eyelashes as he muses to himself. “Well, since you asked so kindly, I’m doing good.”

Wonwoo repeats mockingly, “I’m doing good,” throwing it up into his nose just to watch Joshua’s eyes roll. It sends a little thrill through him to know they can still pick at each other with precision. They did always have a familiarity with one another’s pressure points.

“I can see that,” Joshua laughs, tilting his head in a gesture toward Wonwoo’s left, “You gonna introduce me, or do I have to crack open a tome?”

Acknowledged finally, Minghao’s hand slides into Wonwoo’s back pocket and he smiles placidly, cheeks creasing but eyes flat and appraising, like he’s assessing Joshua, evaluating just how many snaps of his jaw it would take to shred him apart. From a purely theoretical standpoint, of course. Wonwoo buries a stifled laugh into his coffee and watches Joshua scan Minghao slowly, head to toe.

“Xu Minghao.”

Just the sound of his name, delivered warily between rounded lips, seems to enliven Joshua, casts a glow over his cheeks that Wonwoo assumes his skin hasn’t seen for a very long time. At the very least, not since he’s known him.

“I’m Joshua.” A purr rumbles out from Joshua’s throat when he says, “Minghao,” like he’s testing the taste of it out. His tongue flickers out of the corner of his mouth, and Wonwoo catches a familiar flash of white teeth. “New blood?”

At that, Minghao’s back straightens, his hand flexing in Wonwoo’s jeans. Whether it’s out of reflex, comfort, or possessiveness Wonwoo’s not sure, but Minghao digs his fingers into the flesh of Wonwoo’s backside and keeps him close. Heat licks down the middle of Wonwoo’s chest and he tries not to squirm, feeling like a prize in this most civil of standoffs.

To a simple eye it would read awkward, but Wonwoo knows better. The set of Minghao’s jaw tightens, and he can feel as much as he can see the shape of his tongue licking over his fangs in his closed mouth, a spot inside his wrist aching with sense memory.

Minghao’s reaction obviously tickles Joshua, the glint in his eye turning thoughtful. “That’s not a bad thing. Bite hierarchy is so reductive, anyway,” he says with a cautionary wave of his hand, eyes trained on Minghao. 

There’s a real, vulnerable edge to it, an unpoised half-apology like he genuinely worries he’s struck a nerve, and Minghao relaxes a little.

“You’re practically alive, Minghao,” Joshua adds in this honeyed voice that makes Wonwoo’s eyebrows raise.

“Hyung.”

Joshua throws his head back and laughs, features disappearing into moon phases of crinkles, completely honest and weird and somehow still so attractive. “Oh, please, Wonwoo, don’t worry.”

It’s harmless, is what he’s saying. Joshua’s blatant flirting with his boyfriend is, ostensibly, harmless. He’s doing it just to get a rise out of Wonwoo, his capriciousness and his incisiveness working together to hit on Minghao and see what type of reaction he can tease out of Wonwoo in the middle of the day, autumn sun warm on his cheeks despite the crispness of the air.

It’s harmless, but—

“I’m not worried.” 

Wonwoo glances beside himself and finds Minghao already looking back at him, pink mouth delicately parted and eyes their soft brown, gold just barely starting to ring the edges. The expression on Minghao’s face sends a shiver down his spine, which, naturally, Minghao catches, a hint of a dimple pocketing itself into the middle of his cheek. Wonwoo takes another two-handed sip of coffee. It’s starting to go lukewarm.

“God, you’re cute.” It’s coated in cinnamon sugar, sweet-spiced in that way where it’s clearly meant to sound like an insult, but Joshua can’t quite pull it off for the curiosity at its core.

Almost a grimace, Minghao grins wide, eyes narrow as he allows himself an uncharacteristic flash of fangs. “Thank you. We are.”

Joshua laughs again, gleeful. “Oh, I like him, Wonwoo. I’m so glad I ran into you.”

And suddenly Wonwoo is experiencing a brief but vivid fantasy that doesn’t feel quite  _ harmless,  _ exactly, and his nails sink into the styrofoam of his coffee cup. 

Joshua and Minghao are both still, something posturing about the way they’re looking at each other, matching lopsided grins with the prickly edges all shaved off, leaving nothing but smooth, glassy ivory, and Wonwoo would never admit it, but this feeling—this all-consuming hunger dancing on the edge of shame—

He wants them to make like fruit bats, pluck him like a mango from the tree and return on smooth, leathery wing to their feeding roost, soft and safe, and eat him there, tongues and teeth sucking the flesh from the pit and leaving only pulpy, wet sweetness.

Wonwoo’s pulse flutters, racing through his body like a branching superhighway, and he thinks if he can find the right thing to say he can probably get out of this unscathed.

But the second his mouth opens, Minghao’s free hand slides up the side of his neck, cool fingertips delicate on the tendon, feather-light against his carotid. He’s not even looking at him, casual like this is normal, drawn like a magnet to Wonwoo’s hammering heartbeat. Minghao’s hands on Wonwoo’s body always feel like the start of something, like he’s coming home and flicking on the lights, every setting already perfect. Wonwoo wants him to slam the door. 

He thinks there’s a name for a feeling like that among their folk. He wonders if Minghao knows it.

“Joshua,” Minghao muses, starting a question and leaving it open. 

The sound of Joshua’s name ghosts out of his mouth and leaves it parted. He runs his tongue over his lower lip, and Wonwoo watches it go glossy. Joshua watches it, too.

Wonwoo’s coffee has gone cold. Joshua plucks it from between his hands, prying his fingers loose from the crinkling styro. Joshua’s hands on Wonwoo’s body always feel like the spark at a socket when you plug something in that’s already turned on, a little dangerous and surprising, but not enough to worry more than a moment before the smoke disappears and you forget it even happened.

It’s accompanied by a wide smile and heavy-lidded eyes when Joshua says sweetly, “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t ask.”

•

“This is just as I remember,” Joshua says, mirth dancing across the keys of his voice when Wonwoo opens the door to his bedroom, everything still striped in afternoon light through his half-shuttered window.

Joshua is just—like this. 

He’s just as Wonwoo remembers, too.

“Surprised you haven’t made him buy a bedframe yet.”

A sweet-sour look crosses Minghao’s face, and he glances at Wonwoo. When their eyes meet he presses his lips into a line to stifle the giveaway of his reaction, which has quite a lot to do with the activities he and Minghao have engaged in here. Minghao made the bedframe suggestion exactly once before he and Wonwoo made some …discoveries that ultimately ruled against it. 

Minghao’s reply is barbed in word alone. “I don’t  _ make _ him do anything.”

Joshua grins, a surprisingly wolfish thing, but stays silent. Not dignifying their display with a response, Wonwoo supposes.

His fangs are out still, and it sends a thrill through Wonwoo, because so are Minghao’s.

There is some novelty to having Joshua here. The memory of him in this room is like a photograph of a ghost, faint and misty in the background of their action. He can’t quite step into it, can’t quite get his hands around it. Incorporeal. Not as it was in life, even if Joshua wasn’t technically alive when he was here last. Not like when Minghao was first here.

Joshua’s presence casts new light on the things Minghao and Wonwoo do together, weighting the eager way Wonwoo pushes off his own clothes and the languid way Minghao basks in the touches when Wonwoo undresses him too, peels his clothes away to reveal sinewy muscle and bright moonstruck skin. Joshua attends to himself, gold shimmering out of the corner of Wonwoo’s eye, but, ever-observant, keeps his sharp eyes on them.

Not casting judgement—despite his purposely incisive attitude, Joshua couldn’t be cruel. Not to them.

But he can be a little mean.

Wonwoo knows it, relishes it, even, and soon both Minghao and Wonwoo are squirming under his attention.

He goes to Minghao first, both of them up on their knees. All that assessment and appraisal from the café concentrates itself in the way he molds himself to Minghao’s body, running his wide palms over the shape of him, mapping him out with touch.

“He’s so pretty, Wonu-yah.”

Minghao’s eyebrows knit together, his face drawing into something indignant. He wants to bite back at Joshua, even despite the sway of his spine leaning into Joshua’s space.

The sound of Joshua’s warm laughter spills between their bodies, untenses Minghao’s muscles, and cracks something open. “You think I’m kidding.”

Oxygen leaves Wonwoo’s body in entirety.

Exploratory, Joshua’s nails scrape up the length of Minghao’s neck, tipping his head back. Minghao swallows, audibly and visibly, and Joshua pulls his hand back, watching Minghao’s face change. His eyes flick down to Minghao’s mouth, and further still down to Wonwoo where he sits.

“Does he let you bite him?” Joshua coos at Minghao now, thumb moving up to Minghao’s mouth, pressing into the plush of his lower lip. Eyes piercing, he drags it across and in, hooking it into the corner and pulling Minghao’s jaw down, exposing his fangs and setting something ablaze in his eyes.

Wonwoo’s breath comes in shudders, and when Minghao moans, his open mouth sends it into the middle of the room, something high-pitched and resonant, a bat shrieking out of its cave into the open darkness of night.

Joshua looks  _ delighted.  _ “Oh, he  _ does.” _

He does.

He lets Minghao’s lips run across his skin, satin and knifepoint. He lets Minghao press giggles against his temple to feel the temporal artery flutter, murmur phrases that Wonwoo is beginning to learn into the dip there. He lets Minghao trail down his body and sink his teeth into the soft meat of his inner thigh and explode him supernova, mouth still working the sensitive skin when Wonwoo’s vision starts to float back in spots after his inevitable earthshattering orgasm.

“Oh, you’re exactly the same as you were,” Joshua laughs. “You’ve got a type.”

Eyes glued to the flash of cerise where Minghao’s tongue curls wet and heavy over the curve of Joshua’s thumb in his mouth, Wonwoo manages, “I’m not the same as I was, hyung.”

When it was just Wonwoo and Joshua all those years ago, there was fear and excitement in equal measure, and just the tease of teeth, a flash of fangs, was more than enough. Joshua was sure never to give Wonwoo more than he could handle — or take more than he could give, as it were, but Joshua had needs and wants that Wonwoo couldn’t fulfill. Or wouldn’t.

It’s different with Minghao. His body sings for it.

And it’s this that reassures Wonwoo more than anything. Because no matter what memories they shared, Joshua will always be a heartbeat behind Minghao now. He’s missed too much. They can have each other like this, but only with Minghao bridging the gaps.

It doesn’t make him want it any less, though.

To see Minghao, fledgling as he is, snapping his jaw at Joshua and making him laugh when his fangs glance harmlessly off Joshua’s skin like a blunted sword, then to watch Minghao turn his bright, glimmering eyes to Wonwoo, coils something up just under the surface of his skin. It’s exhilarating. It knits itself together like a quilt, enveloping Wonwoo in warm desire.

They’re both laughing—from adrenaline or sudden understanding, Wonwoo can’t tell—when Minghao lets himself tilt in to kiss Joshua, noses scrunched up and fangs colliding before they can quieten themselves enough to kiss properly.

And when they do—

Minghao pushes back as much as Joshua presses forward, something hungry about the way the fullness of their lips turns plush. One of Minghao’s hands presses against the front of Joshua’s shoulder, the other tangling at the back of his hair, and Joshua goes easily. Their confidence rings like a martial arts exhibition, almost coordinated in the contrast. A choreographed push and pull. Collected. Where Minghao’s grip is tight, Joshua is pliant with control. Joshua licks over one of Minghao’s fangs, messy and wet, and Minghao’s thumb digs into his collarbone.

If this is the way vampires communicate, Wonwoo is unsurprised that covenship dissolved a long time ago.

As it is, his hand wraps around himself, giving a few twists around his dick for relief where he’s already desperately hard, skin humming with anticipation and life. His teeth sink into his lower lip, eyes fluttering closed as he exhales.

When he opens them again, he has four amber eyes on him. His cock twitches in his hand, and Joshua smiles all the way up to the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

“You want Shua-hyung to open you up for me?” Minghao asks. Wonwoo knows what he’s really asking. 

“Yes.” 

Joshua’s grin widens mischievously. Wonwoo rolls his eyes, which makes Joshua snort with laughter. “Yeah, you know what I’m going to say.”

“You’re just  _ lazy,”  _ Wonwoo sighs, tugging at pillows to lay them flat near the head of the bed and crossing his arms.

Minghao’s eyes dart over the way Joshua lays himself out like a cat, eyes glimmering up at Wonwoo. “You’re the only one who’s ever called me that. I wonder if your Myungho will agree.”

Despite the curl of the teasing in his gut, Wonwoo rolls his eyes again, kicking up onto his knees and resting his crossed arms onto the wall for balance.

“Ah, hyung, your teeth are sharp,” Wonwoo complains, wriggling a little.

Immediately Minghao moves, sliding himself between Wonwoo and the wall, his closed mouth pressing to the hollow of Wonwoo’s throat. Wonwoo tips forward, burying his face into Minghao’s hair. He can feel Minghao’s eyes searing past the curve of his cheek down to where Joshua is mouthing at the thin skin on the inside of Wonwoo’s knee.

Joshua hums in acknowledgement, the curve of his smile soft against the back of Wonwoo’s thigh. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

Wonwoo huffs through his nose and sucks his teeth. “You better.”

Sight unseen, the moment stretches out, full and swollen like a held breath, until Joshua is finished shuffling into position and gets his hands on the insides of Wonwoo’s thighs, spreads him apart, and licks over him once, twice, over and over.

He pulls back just a little, and Wonwoo hears a slightly muffled, “Oh, you do let him bite you,” before a thumb presses into a bite like a bruise high up between his legs.  _ Minghao was here.  _ A breath punches out of Wonwoo, sharp into Minghao’s ear, and he  _ melts. _

There are no fangs, just wet softness tracing over his hole, gentle in the way Wonwoo remembers Joshua always being with him. Gentle and relentless.

This is no different. As Joshua’s tongue starts to work him open, Wonwoo starts to fall apart into Minghao’s arms.

“You feel good?” Minghao murmurs into Wonwoo’s ear, chuckling quietly when Wonwoo nods vigorously, vocal cords chopping any possibility of words into groans.

Typically Wonwoo prides himself on his levelheadedness, but here, Wonwoo’s voice cracks on a moan. His legs are shaking, breath coming hard and fast like he’s 41 km into a marathon, running with the bulls, climbing Mount Everest, getting eaten out like Joshua’s life depends on it. Like Joshua is trying to prove something to Wonwoo, or Minghao, or both. The spoils of this half-war seem uniquely focused on Wonwoo, both trophy and cause.

Ugly gurgling noises are being made of names, transmogrified into something feral and guttural and debased.  _ Joshua, hyung,  _ spat out like seeds, round and hard, and  _ Myungho,  _ wailed with desperation and need directly into his neck.

But Wonwoo can’t help it, thighs quivering around Joshua’s head, his cheeks cool against the sweat-sticky skin. Minghao’s hand snakes around his thigh, another at the small of his back to straighten him up just a little, and suddenly there’s a long finger sliding in, lube-slickness gliding along Joshua’s tongue into him as he continues to lick Wonwoo open.

“Oh, God,” Wonwoo whimpers, hips rocking.

“One more,” Minghao encourages, “One more and you’re ready for me?”

Wonwoo nods, swallowing hard when Minghao tucks another finger inside him, the stretch of them pressing in and out soothed by the soft wetness of Joshua’s lips and tongue.

With each passing minute Wonwoo’s body feels tighter and wilder, affected so fully by Joshua’s mouth and Minghao's hands and what they do together. Minghao crooks his fingers and Wonwoo spasms, letting out a low, strangled noise that Minghao kisses him through.

“He’s close, Shua,” Minghao purrs. The tone of his voice and lack of honorific let Wonwoo know he’s flashing his fangs. It sears through him.

Hands spanning the breadth of Wonwoo’s thighs, Joshua slides out from under him. “Take him right here,” he says, voice wavering with disuse.

“Give me a condom, then,” Minghao bites back, smile curling up at the edges as he slides into a sitting position, Wonwoo’s thighs still astride his lap.

Wonwoo’s thighs burn, but his want burns hotter. “Jesus,” he laughs. It turns into a sigh halfway through.

With swollen lips Joshua presses a kiss to the corner of Wonwoo’s mouth, rolling a condom onto Minghao’s dick. “Where’d  _ lazy  _ go, then, I wonder?” 

“Shut up,” Wonwoo snorts, picking his body up and sinking down onto Minghao’s cock.

“Oh—” Minghao is taken by surprise, hands flying to Wonwoo’s waist.

The energy is thrumming as Minghao fucks up into Wonwoo before he realizes it, Joshua crowding up close behind him, amber-brown eyes likely devouring Minghao’s abs, the veins running down his arms, the plainfaced desire in the way he can’t look away from Wonwoo’s face.

This is familiar, in each separate part: in Joshua hooking his chin over his shoulder, watching Wonwoo’s core flex as he takes cock; in Minghao’s long fingers encircling his waist, practically unblinking, an incredulous half-smile playing on his lips like he can’t believe he gets to see Wonwoo fall apart like this.

It feels so good. He’s so close already.

Just—one thing.

“Myungho,” Wonwoo gasps. “Please.”

The movement of Minghao’s nod brushes the soft fluff of his hair against Wonwoo’s cheek, his hunger matching Wonwoo’s. Wonwoo combs one hand through it to push it off Minghao’s face, tilting his head back. Signaling, wanting.

“Hold him steady?” Minghao asks. 

The only reply Wonwoo can manage is a breathy sigh, which makes Joshua laugh. It’s that warm, low sound that is always just this side of too-knowing, like he’s in on a joke he’s not willing to share.

Tinted with a scarlet smirk comes Joshua’s reply: “Yeah, you got it.”

From behind Wonwoo, Joshua’s hands wrap around Wonwoo’s waist, thumbs in the divots of his hips. His touch is delicate despite the clammy feel of his cool hands on Wonwoo’s sweaty skin, and his broad palms push and pull at Wonwoo’s body, guiding him in a not-so-gentle grind on Minghao’s cock where it’s buried deep inside him. 

His fingers overlap with Minghao’s, holding Wonwoo firm. Keeping him right where they want him.

It pulls a long breath out of Wonwoo, thin from the tipped-back angle of his neck.  _ “Myungho,”  _ he says again, and maybe it sounds a little desperate, a little hungry. Maybe a few years ago he would be nervous about how he comes across, concerned about sounding too needy or too uncomposed, especially in front of Joshua.

But Minghao just hums in affirmation, surging forward for a kiss that tastes like a smile, and then his mouth is moving down Wonwoo’s neck, blunt front teeth dragging like a promise. Wonwoo very much likes where he is.

“Watch,” Wonwoo breathes, and grins when Joshua’s hands tighten on his waist in response.

Minghao cuts his own responding giggle off abruptly when he sinks his fangs into the juncture of Wonwoo’s neck like he can’t wait anymore, his eyes flicking up to stare at a spot over Wonwoo’s shoulder the moment before he pierces Wonwoo’s skin.

Blood roars in Wonwoo’s ears like crashing waves, the tiny, pricked circles of Minghao’s fang site like twin moons, pulling him in and out of vision with pleasure. His whole body roils with dizzying arousal, twin sensations overloading his brain and his body alike. The ebb and flow of his mind, singing  _ Minghao Minghao Minghao,  _ narrowed to his neck and to the matching press of Minghao’s cock against his prostate, guided by Joshua’s incessant movements.

Every time Minghao’s teeth break Wonwoo open feels like the first time, devastating his body and flooding him with inexplicable emotion. He should ask—he thinks maybe it’s—

Minghao yanks one hand free to grab at the back of Joshua’s neck, pulling him over Wonwoo’s shoulder to kiss him deep, the messy, wet sound of it thicker than before. Thick with Wonwoo’s blood, he realizes with a breathless moan, snapping his eyes open the rest of the way to watch a wave of translucent crimson roll off Minghao’s tongue onto Joshua’s, to watch Joshua’s eyes flutter at the taste.

“Shit, shit,” Joshua swears in English, thick and heavy with the syrupiness in his mouth, and Wonwoo feels him rut up against the small of his back, hard and stuttered as he spills into his own courteous condom.

The aborted movements of Joshua’s orgasm presses Wonwoo just a little harder down onto Minghao’s cock, eliciting a desperate cry.

“Hyung,” Minghao coos. It sounds like an apology, like  _ love,  _ like  _ mine.  _ His tongue swipes broadly over the site of Wonwoo’s bite, sweet and grateful even as his hips roll into Wonwoo quicker. Velvet and ruby.

Wonwoo’s guttural noises come faster, knocked out of him with each thrust, and he just wants—he wants—he—“Minghao,  _ give _ it to me,” he gasps.

Minghao lets out a wounded noise in the back of his throat, hand flying down to fist Wonwoo’s cock, wet and fast. Relief whines out of their mouths as Minghao grinds in, Wonwoo’s body seizing, both of them coming apart. Gasping for breath and clutching close, Joshua’s hands are the only things keeping them upright.

Heaving breaths litter the air, and Wonwoo’s legs give out, body falling backward into Joshua’s. 

Joshua presses a kiss into the crown of Wonwoo’s hair. “Minghao,” he says, letting it linger. When Minghao makes a face like,  _ what,  _ Joshua just laughs. “I don’t know.”

“You’re so weird,” Minghao laughs, too, running his tongue over his fangs. He gets up, pressing one kiss to Wonwoo’s lips, then pausing only briefly before pressing another to Joshua’s. He disappears into the hall, and Wonwoo can hear the water running.

Joshua pats Wonwoo’s thigh in a friendly way, and Wonwoo sits up, resettling in bed against the pillows instead of facing the wall. Joshua lies down beside him after disposing of his condom and yanking his underwear back on. Their silence is comfortable, as it always was.

“Bloodsong, huh?” Joshua asks quietly, pressing two blunt nails to the unblemished, smooth skin of Wonwoo’s collarbone, an imitation of a bite. Not a suggestion, either. A fond gesture more than anything.

Wonwoo nods slowly. “I think so.”

Even as he shakes his head, Joshua is smiling. No pretense, no smirk to it. Something genuine. “I could taste it in his mouth. God, that’s sure something.”

“You’ve never—?”

A shrug in lieu of a response, but his eyes flick away momentarily, telling a different story. 

With only mild complaint about how it would be easier if his _ fucking mattress weren’t on the floor  _ Joshua manages to stand, tugging his clothes back on and dropping back down into a squat, elbows on his knees so he can look Wonwoo in the eyes. “You were right, you know.”

Wonwoo raises his eyebrows. “About?”

“You’re not the same as you were.” Joshua presses a kiss to Wonwoo’s forehead, sweaty hair plastered to it and all. “I like it. Love looks good on you.”

Grinning, Wonwoo shrugs too, saying everything and nothing with the gesture. “Thanks, hyung.”

“Don’t be a stranger, okay? Live this long, you get a pretty good sense of who the good ones are.”

He’s inclined to agree. Wonwoo touches Joshua’s cheek and smiles, turning it on Minghao when he reappears in a long t-shirt, barefaced and soft-looking.

“I’ll let you go,” Joshua says goodnaturedly.

“Actually, let me walk you out.” Minghao’s hand is gentle on Joshua’s waist, and only now does Joshua seem to look a little bashful, eyes cast downward and then sparkling up at Minghao.

“Yeah, okay.”

From his place in bed Wonwoo watches them go, flopping onto his side to get a glimpse of their lean figures at the entry through the crack in the bedroom doorway. 

Their conversation is unintelligible from here, but Minghao’s hands are at Joshua’s waist, his wrist, his neck, and Joshua laughs warmly, tilting his head. Minghao presses a chaste kiss to a point on his neck just under his jaw, and Joshua grins broadly. No fangs this time. He says something that makes Minghao laugh, too, his sweet giggle, and Wonwoo lies on his back, listening to another minute or so of murmurs before the door opens and shuts.

The bed dips, and Wonwoo rolls himself into Minghao’s chest sight unseen. “Hi again,” Minghao says, dipping down to kiss Wonwoo properly.

“Who do you think—”

“He wouldn’t tell me!” Minghao whines, and Wonwoo laughs.

“Of course not.”

Minghao’s hand runs through Wonwoo’s hair. “You okay?”

Wonwoo considers himself. Pleasant aches litter his body, the tenderest of which is on his neck, and when he inhales, the cool scent of Minghao and his cologne envelop him, a sweat-warm tint to it. His heartbeat settles.

“Never better.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> find me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/pixiepowerao3) and [curiouscat](http://www.curiouscat.me/pixiepower/)!


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